Melody's Last Stand
by TheRealMelodyMalone
Summary: River Song has assumed her Melody Malone identity again. New York in 1938 is the perfect hiding place, but why is she hiding - and from whom? This story takes place some time after the events of The Angels Take Manhattan and also follows on (...kind of...) from The Angel's Kiss. It is still very much a work in progress...
1. Chapter 1: Corridors of Power

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss….?"

"Malone," I replied. "Melody Malone. Likewise, Mr President."

I treated him to my best smile. It never fails. Well, it certainly had a knockout effect on JFK – though to be fair, the hallucinogenic lipstick may also have been a factor. And I like to think it played its part in helping that nice Mr Obama secure a second term. It didn't have much effect on Tricky Dicky, though in my defence, I _was_ a little preoccupied at the time.

I returned my attention to the distinguished figure seated beside me. Franklin D Roosevelt, 32nd President of the United States. Seemed a nice chap.

"I'm sorry… it is Miss?" he went on. "Are you married?"

"Ah." I smiled again. "That, I'm afraid, is classified information."

I'm meant to be lying low. Hiding, if you like. And yes, I suppose gatecrashing a reception at the White House isn't the most immediately obvious way of doing that. But a girl gets bored, all alone in the big city. The big city in question being New York, 1938. The perfect hiding place – from one person, at least. I have my reasons.

And here I am in Washington. Luckily I have a useful little gadget that helps me get wherever – and whenever – I need to be with the minimum of fuss. I keep it well hidden, though. It would confuse people. To be perfectly honest, I think I confuse people enough simply by being me. It's just the way I am.

Anyway, I'd heard something about the White House. Something… odd. And I wanted to investigate. I _am _an investigator, after all.

"Melody Malone," I said again. "Proprietor and sole employee of the Angel Detective Agency in New York City."

"A gumshoe?" He raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have expected that."

FDR, president, reformer, survivor of childhood polio which had left him partially paralysed. The only president to serve more than two terms, although he hadn't yet. 1938, the eve of war in Europe. He did look a bit stressed.

He took a sip from his glass and I glanced around the room. My eye fell on a stone statue which stood in a recess. Nothing obviously remarkable about it, as statues go. A young woman, in flowing garments. With wings. I frowned slightly.

Suddenly the President turned pale and swayed slightly in his seat.

"Are you all right, Mr President?"

"I need a doctor," he gasped.

"Don't we all?" I quipped. But it was no time for jokes. I signalled for help and immediately half a dozen staff came hurrying over. I took the opportunity to slip away. Not that I wasn't concerned about the President – I'm not a _complete_ psychopath, despite what some claim to believe – but he was clearly in good hands, and the chance was too good to miss.

I barely had time to glance at the stone angel as I hurried past, though a brief remembered pain flashed through one wrist. And another kind of pain, a less physical one.

But my self-control is iron. If I'm hurt, or frightened, or lonely, I know precisely how to never, ever let it show.

I learned that lesson early.

My heels tapped along the corridors as I tried to look as though I knew where I was going. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for, but I'd know it when I found it – if I got the chance.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A heavyset dark-haired man, in his 40s, hurried towards me. He stopped, looked at me with a kind of confused recognition. "I mean, Professor….."

"Melody Malone. Miss," I said briskly, cutting him off before he could say... whatever he'd been going to say. I had never seen him before in my life. Much further along the corridor, a slim figure turned a corner and disappeared into an office. I broke into a run.

As I pushed open the office door, the dark haired man was right behind me. I could hear more heavy footsteps approaching along the corridor – a lot more. Across the room, a young woman, her back turned, was rifling through a filing cabinet. The sober dark suit with calf-length skirt and modest heels was a far cry from the outfits I was used to seeing her wear, but the height and the sweep of glorious red hair were unmistakable.

"Mrs Williams…." The man behind me spoke.

She turned. She gasped.

My smile was genuine this time.

"Hello, Mum."


	2. Chapter 2: The Girl Who Waited

As I crossed the room, I was aware of running feet converging from all directions. Grabbing the vortex manipulator from my bag with practised ease, I quickly began entering co-ordinates. "Amy, hold on to me, now!" And with a smile and a wink to the amazed faces now appearing in the doorway, we were gone, the calls of "Mrs Williams... Professor!" still echoing in our ears...

... only to reappear, a little dazed and breathless, in the middle of my office in Manhattan.

"Come on, sweetie." I sat her down in the comfiest – all right, neither of them are comfy - chair, switched on the portable heater and put on the kettle. Amy stared at me. She looked as beautiful as ever, but there was a weary sadness in her eyes.

"Melody." Her voice broke.

"Mother." I handed her a cup of coffee and pulled the other chair close to her.

"I've been looking for your father, Melody. I've looked and looked. But I can't find him."

Angrily, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. I took her hand.

"Do you have any idea, Melody, _any idea at all_, how hard it is to find someone in 1938? I know he's here, somewhere, or at least he will be. We saw his grave. But I can't find him. Melody, what if I never find him?" She broke down, tears flowing freely now.

I stroked her hand. "Mother. Amy. You'll find him, I promise. We – we will find him. I'm a detective, remember?" She smiled weakly at that. "I've brought you two together once, and you'd better believe I can do it again."

That earned a little laugh. "How could I forget? I was so sure he was gay... I couldn't believe he'd been in love with me, all along. And it took you to point it out. Crazy Mels, my best friend. The baddest girl in Leadworth. I still can't completely get my head round it all, you know? You – being the same person. Like the Doctor once said... my life doesn't make any sense."

I hugged her. "It makes sense, sweetie. Rory, me, the Doctor, we all love you – never forget that. Wherever Rory is, you can bet your life he's searching for you too, and he'll never give up. The Last Centurion, the man who waited for two thousand years? I'm sorry you've been all alone here, but you're not alone any more."

Tears were coursing down her cheeks now.

"He was gone so fast, I never had a chance to say goodbye, I never had a chance to kiss him. I – just – want – to see – his – stupid – face – again!"

We were silent for a few minutes. I heard the noises in the street below, people shouting and the rumble of traffic. I asked gently, "Amy... how did you come to be in Washington? In the White House, for goodness sake!"

She shook her head. "I thought – stupid, stupid! – that I might have more chance of finding him in Washington. You know, the seat of government, all that... I thought maybe there'd be records, or maybe I could talk to someone who could help me find him.I was desperate, Melody – I'd tried everything I could think of. All the hospitals, in case he was working as a nurse – nothing! Do they even _have_ male nurses in 1938? I couldn't believe it when the secretarial job at the White House came up."

She looked puzzled for a moment.

"It was kind of weird, actually. This guy - just some random guy - just offered me a job, no questions asked... Well, never mind. I told them all I was a widow. I feel like one. I'd only been there a week."

I nodded, mentally filing this information away for later.

Amy made a visible effort to pull herself together. "Anyway. Tell me what you and the Doctor have been up to. God, I miss him too, that mad idiot in his bow tie!"

I tried to speak calmly. "I haven't seen him in a while. I... there are reasons."

She stared at me.

"Melody. River. Why are you here?"

In the brief silence that followed, I heard a door slam somewhere below.

"Keeping out of trouble. Writing a book."

She raised her eyebrows. "Keeping out of trouble – by breaking into the White House?"

"I didn't _break in_", I replied, offended. "I was an invited guest. Well – kind of. There were invited guests, and I... joined them."

Inside the building, heavy footsteps mounted the stairs.

As Amy began to speak, a shadow loomed outside the glass panel of my office door.

And someone knocked.


	3. Chapter 3: The Man in Black

The knock came again, louder. Then the door handle rattled. It was locked, of course. Amy and I regarded the door, and then each other, with a wild surmise.

"It's probably a client," I reassured her, although in truth, paying customers of the Angel Detective Agency (proprietor and sole employee: M. Malone) were few and far between.

"Mrs Williams... Professor Song! I need to speak to you." A male voice.

I replied coolly, "It may have escaped your notice, not being a detective yourself, but this is a detective agency not a university. The sign on the door provides a subtle clue. There are no professors here."

"Well... I need a detective!"

I sighed, rose to my feet, checked my lipstick was on straight, my hair was behaving itself – well, as much as it ever does, which is not much - and my gun was in its usual place, and unlocked the door. Well, it never hurts to be prepared for all eventualities.

The heavyset dark man who entered, wearing a sober black suit and overcoat, had a certain look of familiarity about him. Probably because I'd last seen him not much over an hour ago, chasing me down a White House corridor.

"Mr Stone," said Amy with a polite nod. I was pleased to see she'd recovered some of her old confidence and spark. She's always thrived on a bit of excitement, danger even. I guess it runs in the family – like mother, like daughter. Or do I mean the other way round?

I extended my hand to the newcomer. "I am Melody Malone, and this is my..."

"Mother," murmured Amy.

"... associate, Amy ... Williams. How may we be of assistance, Mr Stone? Unfaithful wife? Lost cat?"

"A detective," he muttered, shaking his head.

"That's me. Melody Malone, hot-shot private investigator. Love a mystery."

"Investigator of... angels?"

"It's just a name," I said quickly. "Why don't we start with how you and Amy know each other?" I glanced at her. She was leaning on the desk, her arms folded.

"I was working in a diner, here in New York," she explained. "Not the best of jobs but things are hard round here, you have to take what you can get. When I... got here... I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing. I was lucky to get a job pretty much straight away. I'd been working there about three weeks when he came in... we got talking. He was curious about my accent. Offered me a job. I thought it was a bit weird, but..." She shrugged. "What else was I going to do?"

"Hmmm." I took a good look at Mr Stone, who wasn't saying much. He looked staid enough, but there was definitely more going on there than met the eye. I wondered what his interest in Amy had been. There was the obvious, of course, but I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

"Bill Stone," he finally introduced himself. "I work for the President... but you know that, of course, Prof... I mean, Miss Malone. That's kind of why I'm here. I have reason to believe President Roosevelt is in danger."

I laughed out loud at that. "So you came to... me? Oh, Mr Stone, I am terribly flattered, but..."

He interrupted. "The danger threatening the President is rather... unusual. And I believe you to be rather an unusual detective."

"No, no, no." I hastened to disabuse him of that alarming notion. "Nothing unusual about me, not a thing. I'm strictly small time. Lost cats, lost husbands – " I shot Amy what I hoped was a reassuring smile "- the occasional misbehaving statue, that's my line. Not endangered presidents. So I'm afraid we can't help you. Goodbye."

I opened the door and invited him to depart through it. He closed it again. I was starting to gain the distinct impression that this guy wasn't buying it.

"Professor River Song." It wasn't a question.

"Stupid name," I commented. "I don't think I know anyone of that name. Do you, Amy?"

"Nope, uh-uh." She shook her head. "Definitely not."

"Like I said –" he went on. "Interesting name, the Angel Detective Agency. Because the matter of which I speak, this threat to the president, does appear to concern... angels."

"Angels?" I was gazing out of the window, watching the street four floors below. I _have_ been known to throw myself from high places – some have even suggested I make a habit of it – but it's always advisable on such occasions to have someone you can rely on to catch you before you hit the ground. And right now, I don't.

"Angels." I turned to face him. His suit looked the part, but the gadget he produced from his overcoat pocket was definitely not 1938 technology. And it was pointing at me.

My new "keeping out of trouble" policy was not going particularly well.


	4. Chapter 4: A Matter of Time

Amy lunged towards him, but it was too late. The device he held emitted a brief sharp buzz as he pointed it towards me and instantly, a holographic image of me hovered in the air between us. It wasn't my best side, and I was alarmed by the state of my hair.

The gadget beeped, and Stone glanced at the screen. He held it out so I could see the words scrolling across it.

MATCH FOUND

River Song, also known as: Melody Pond. Profession: Professor of Archaeology. Born Demon's Run, 51...

The stream of data continued, but frankly, I'd seen enough.

The man continued to read, however. "Sentenced to life imprisonment for murder. Later released from Stormcage Containment Facility due to lack of evidence."

"Well, these things happen," I remarked nonchalantly.

He raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Odd, though, isn't it?"

I said nothing. I considered the window again. But there was Amy to think about. I wondered if his database had a record of her, too. And then I wondered something else.

Stone was speaking again.

"Thing is, Professor, I don't actually need a gadget to tell me who you are. I just wanted to get your attention."

"You have it," I reassured him truthfully.

"I recognised you straight away when I saw you in the White House," he went on.

A broad smile on his face, he extended his hand.

"I was a student of yours. Luna University, Class of '52. I've never forgotten you. You inspired me with a passion for the past. I suppose, in a way, that's one reason why I ended up joining the Time Agency."

Things started to click into place.

"You don't remember me?" he queried, looking slightly hurt.

Oh, not this again. I sighed inwardly. "Class of '52, you say? I'm afraid I haven't actually taught it yet. Same old story – your past, my future. Time travel is so ridiculously complicated, I often wonder why we bother."

He nodded. "Yes, the paradoxes..."

"... Resolve themselves, by and large. As a wise man used to say. Well, a man."

I glanced down again at the street below, and moved away from the window.

"So, now that we have identified ourselves, what brings you here, Mr Stone?"

He cleared his throat. "I don't know why you're posing as a detective in New York in 1938, Professor Song..."

I shrugged airily, in a "why ever not?" kind of way.

"New York and I have history, Mr Stone," I said, briefly flashing back many years on a dark alley, a blazing light and powerful, searing pain. And the years that followed. Not the worst of times – not quite – but far, far from the best. But there are some places the mind must never go. I kept the inquiring smile on my face.

"Well... I'm sure you have your reasons. And since you're here, your skills and experience could be very valuable to us."

"My archaeological knowledge?" I queried.

"Not... entirely what I had in mind. I do know quite a bit about you, you see, and some of your, er, past exploits. And associates. A successful attempt on the President's life at this juncture would change Earth history substantially. Potentially, altering the outcome of the upcoming World War. This is a situation which we would, ideally, prefer to avoid."

"Oh yes, of course, it's 1938," Amy exclaimed. "I've been so busy surviving, I hadn't given it that much thought."

My mind drifted to a room in Berlin, and a small smile played across my lips. Glancing at Amy, I saw she was thinking of the same thing.

"Shame he ever got out of that cupboard," she whispered. "You should've shot him while you had the chance."

Bill shot her a look. "When I met Mrs Williams working in that diner, I knew straight away she was a time traveller – you know how it is, takes one to know one, right? Scanned her without her knowledge and identified her as a native of the 21st century, but someone who'd done a fair amount of hopping about in time. I suspected her motives, so I offered her a job where I could keep an eye on her. Didn't think she was much of a threat, though."

Amy glared at him. "Don't count on it, sunshine. You have no idea how much of a threat I can be."

"So this danger to the President..." I said slowly.

"... is not something most people of this era would understand, Professor. And if they did, mass panic would undoubtedly ensue. I can explain – if you will agree to help us."

His story added up, but I wasn't yet sure I could trust him. Still, a little uncertainty can make life more fun.

"We'll make a deal with you, Mr Stone." I smiled coolly. "With the President's life at stake, my skills – as you put it – and those of my associate here are at your disposal. But... there's something I want in exchange."


End file.
